


Beauty

by Senket



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Etherial!Crowley, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-15
Updated: 2008-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senket/pseuds/Senket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale has a hard time dealing with the true incarnation of his own personal demon, but Crowley doesn't care much for the angel's problems.<b></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty

“Sorry I’m late,” the man-shaped thing grumbled, dropping into his seat. “I had some problems, obviously,” he added in a sour tone, gesturing to himself.

 

“Obviously,” Aziraphale repeated hollowly, shifting uncomfortably. Very rarely did he feel so very out of place around Crowley. However…

 

Despite being an angel and hitherto exempt from things like excessive pride and vanity, and therefore putting too much importance on the physical, Aziraphale had always found the middle-aged, pudgy body Up Above had bestowed upon him to be lacklustre. Compared with the mid-twenties, high cheekboned, leggy, slim thing that Crowley had been, he had a passing thought ever few years that resembled (but obviously wasn’t) envy- but he forgot it quickly, and anyway the demon hardly seemed to care. But that was nothing in comparison to Crowley’s true form.

 

He was… ethereal, and there was simply not a better word for it. All glowing moon-white skin stretched taunt over powerful muscle, lean frame moving bonelessly- like the snake slitted pupil over dusted gold showed him as being. A faint wave of midnight black hair curled just below his chin, something that seemed to irritate the demon mildly. Soft dove-white wings shifted against the creature’s back as he tried to make the otherworldly shape fit into the Ritz’s booth comfortably.

 

There was something vastly different about the beauty of an angel and a demon in their unaltered forms. Whereas the heavenly glory of a creature of light inspired men to greater reaches, the dark beauty of ones lost to His grace left the view with a profound feeling of loss and despair. Aziraphale felt that he must’ve been on Earth far too long because the sight made him suddenly consider why he thought his relationship with Crowley could have ever been more than a source of occasional entertainment for the demon. After all, what did he have to offer to such a creature of pure Imperfection, one who regaled in nearly everything Aziraphale stood against, who could never want for anything without all around clamouring to offer it to him, to one who delighted in seeing all about him trip and fall (or even Fall). He was completely out of his league.

 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley broke, watching him closely. He shifted forward at the lack of response, reptile’s eyes narrowed. “Angel.” Aziraphale met his eye, but only for a fraction of a second. Head lowered, curtain of whey-blond curls tumbled in his face, arms wrapped protectively- or was that defensively?- around his soft belly, he looked the picture of bashful shame, something which quite perplexed (and worried) his demonic companion.

 

“ _Aziraphale_.” Fingers brushed against a shoulder and the angel jerked back with a shocked squeak, eyes clearing of the odd trance of negative emotions.

 

“Crowley,” he hissed under his breath, “watch it! That hurts.” The demon had spent such a long time trading in one human form for the next he had forgotten the affect of his unrepressed aura on the far more unguarded mortal form Aziraphale was currently inhabiting.

 

“Sorry,” the demon answered- sullenly and insincerely- gaze focused on the slight-smouldering flesh of the blonde’s shoulder. Honestly the creature of light had been weirding him out. He couldn’t remember the angel looking so… well, despondently _miserable_. (1) “As I was saying, I had a bit of a mishap with my body. Seems Hastur has been terrifically eager to have a nice long chat with me Down Below, and sometimes its best to shed your skin if you catch my drift.” He stilled for a good while, sipping from his wine slowly, eyes fixed on the barely-responsive Creature of Heaven. Eventually, growing tired of the pressing silence, he began anew. “In any case, as much as I love my idea about bureaucracy and red tape, it becomes rather a hassle to deal with it myself, so I’ll be stuck like this for a while more.” He settled again.

 

After a period of silence, sinewy fingers began to drum against the tabletop. He watched as the young woman in the booth over, after accidentally making eye contact, burst into tears, convinced that she was ugly and useless and wound never be worth the love of any man, nor would receive it. She ran off, leaving a dismayed (and very much in love) gentleman to drink the rest of a barely-opened Chardonnay on his own, hitherto convinced that he would never get it right- particularly not with Maxine, it seemed, which was unfortunately all he wanted. (2)

 

The reaction, rather than instil demonic glee, only seemed to irritate Crowley further. His glass hit the table with far more force than he had intended, shattering in his hand. Wine seeped into the tablecloth but refused to touch his sleeve, instead spreading blood-red towards the angel.

 

“What in He-G-Someone’s name is _wrong_ with you?”

 

“Ill-fitting glove,” he answered softly after several beats, keeping his eyes down.

 

Crowley stared, rolling the words over in his mind. “Beg your pardon?”

 

The angel repeated himself, more clearly and now with distinct ashamed distaste. The demon only understood his meaning the second time around by the reflexive tightening of Aziraphale’s arms around a rounded stomach.

 

“You…” It only took a few moments for the expression of pure surprise to melt into annoyed exasperation. “Is _that_ what’s been upsetting you?” And incredulity. Boy could his angel be a hard-headed mule sometimes. Baby-blues glanced at him shyly before quickly returning to the newly-stained tablecloth.

 

“Oh, for the L-someone’s sake, Angel!”

 

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what had happened- only that a moment later his bottom lip was bleeding, his tongue tingled, and he could distinctively taste a wine he had not drunken a drop of yet.(3) “Ah, Crowl-”

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” the ethereal being snapped, though Aziraphale could effortlessly mark the lines of smugness in his face. “If you don’t start acting like yourself soon I shall be forced to act accordingly.”

 

“In that case,” the angel replied with a shy smile, gaze finally matching the serpentine demon’s own, “I think I shall be forced to refuse.”

 

“Very well then, but I better not hear any complaints in the morning.”

 

“Oh, you shan’t,” the blond purred and, surprised but delighted, Crowley resolved to accidentally kill himself more often in the future.

 

 

 

(1)       This, of course, barring the collapses of many a great libraries over the centuries. And, more definitely, excluding the Great War, which, while Crowley was certain Aziraphale had been terribly upset over, he certainly had not been able to witness, being rather preoccupied with Falling at the time.

 

(2)       In the future, neither would remember what had caused the incident, nor even that there had been anyone in the adjacent booth. However, you may be glad to know that it forced to light insecurities and truths, the communication of which helped form a happy and healthy relationship which they still share today.

 

(3)       The injured lip was purposeful. Aura-wise Crowley remembered quickly.

 


End file.
